


we only go backwards

by Joiedevivre



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, This is not what I intended to write, but when is it ever, hints of promptis, less sad ignoct, non traditional love triangles, sad gladnis, unequal love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joiedevivre/pseuds/Joiedevivre
Summary: There’s a part of Noctis and Ignis both that they will never share with anyone else. It’s a step above, it’s beyond loyalty into a precipitous devotion that Gladio can’t even begin to understand how to reach.





	

  
Ignis shames him with his love for Noctis. 

Gladio tells himself he’s not any less loyal than Ignis, but when he watches the soft tilt of Ignis’ head as he leans in to speak to Noct, the way the prince turns his head up to Ignis with pure openness, a terrible burning consumes his heart. He turns away, physically, from the fury and the guilt. There’s a part of Noctis and Ignis both that they will never share with anyone else. It’s a step above, it’s beyond loyalty into a precipitous devotion that Gladio can’t even begin to understand how to reach.

He thinks if he could, he’d reach for Ignis, and so Ignis, merely by existing, shames him in his love for Noctis, the love that Gladio could never match.

He thinks that he loves Noctis, he knows that he’d die for him. But not the way Ignis does, and Ignis would die a thousand times over for Noct and resurrect again to stand between Noct and the world.

He knows that he loves Ignis, and he knows he could never die for Ignis, because he must always survive to protect Noct.

They stay in a motel the next night, both of the younger boys pleading for real beds and he can see from the weariness on Ignis' face that he wants it just as much as they, visions of hot baths slipping by in his faraway gaze. He bides his time, offering to take the last shower, nodding agreeably when Noctis and Prompto beg off to hit the diner for some games. As soon as the door closes behind them, he's turning on Ignis, full of intent, and Ignis quirks an eyebrow in response. His hair is still darkened and damp from the shower but already smoothed back and Gladio thinks about threading his fingers through it and pulling it apart, like he wants to pull Ignis part, like he never can. Gladio reaches for him, still caught in the web of his want from earlier, when they sat around the campfire in early morning and Noctis had stretched his body halfway out of his camp chair to lean across the distance between him and Ignis and whisper something in his ear. Gladio has no right to jealousy, and this won't fix it, not even close, but this is the part of him that Ignis lets him have, and he'll take it. 

He cradles Ignis' face in his hands, thumbs stroking the sharp line of his jaw while he presses his middle finger in the fluttering pulse underneath in the tender skin of his neck. Ignis hums and turns his face up into the touch, eyes falling shut as Gladio leans into him for a kiss. Ignis is nearly as tall as him, not quite, but he's a hell of a lot closer than either of the small fry that make him feel like a lumbering giant, and Gladio loves the feeling when Ignis presses into him with his hips like he really wants this. 

"We haven't much time," Ignis murmurs into his lips, his clever hands already working Gladio's belt free. 

"Enough," Gladio replies, sliding his hand around to the back of Ignis neck and deepening the kiss with a insistent press of his tongue as Ignis nods and works his button free, slides the zipper down. Gladio runs his tongue over the line of Ignis' teeth and tastes mint. Ignis brushes his teeth in the shower, it's one of the little things he does that Gladio wonders if anyone else knows about him. He pulls away from the kiss reluctantly as Ignis gives him a little push backward onto the bed, working his pants over his hips as he moves. Ignis sinks to his knees in front of him, and Gladio gets a whole new rush out of the sight, eyes combing over his kneeling figure. Ignis looks up at him with that obscure smile, the one that only hints around his lips and mostly settles in the corners of his eyes. Even as a fresh spike of desire surges upward in him, he remembers the other smile, the one Ignis only gives to Noctis, and he grabs a fistful of Ignis' hair. He wants to be tender but there's anger in his veins, a pulse he thinks he'll never satisfy. Something changes on Ignis' face, the shift between them impossible to miss. He purses his lips just a moment before leaning forward and to take Gladio's cock in his mouth, pulling the whole of it down in a soft, wet enveloping drag. A breath escapes before Gladio means to let it, he's angry, yes, but part of him is always angry, and gods, Ignis' perfect lips wrapped around him. He loosens his grip in Ignis' hair, letting him set the pace. Like everything Ignis does, it's an exercise in perfection, and it's not studied or practiced, it's a sinful and thorough hunger that's brought him here, color emptying out of his eyes as he glances up at Gladio. Gladio pulls his glasses off, chuckling at the small noise of protest that he can _feel_ work it's way up Ignis' throat; he doesn't care, tossing the frames on the other bed carelessly. It earns him a glare, but Gladio kind of likes that, the little buttons he can push in Ignis, and Ignis does't stop the magic he's working with his tongue massaging the underside of his cock, so he calls it a win, rolling his hips greedily and wanting more. Ignis obliges, lifting himself to a better angle, relaxing his throat and swallowing to take him all the way down, the slide in and out suddenly deeper, tighter, repeating the process faster. Gladio's head falls back in a groan, wanting so badly to slam his hands down on Ignis' shoulders, to stand and push himself in more violently, fuck Ignis' beautiful mouth until he chokes on it, wants to see him go red and gasp. 

Wants to show him where his devotion belongs, bear him down into the ground and break him. 

He doesn't do any of those things. He forces his muscles to relax, unfisting his hands at his sides and spreading his palms flat on the thin blankets stretched across the bed, body straining with the effort of holding himself in check. Ignis can sense he's on edge, because he's pulling away a moment later. It doesn't help Gladio, who's already shaking from frustration and he growls, hands balling up again as Ignis stands at the foot of the bed, then slides a knee on the bed between Gladio's legs, leaning forward to hover over him concernedly. 

"Gladio," he says, his voice a whisper. "What do you need?"

Gladio can't tell him what he needs, because he doesn't know. He needs to crawl into Ignis' skin and press himself over every inch of him until he understands, me, me, I need you to love me best. He has no right to ask. He will not ask. 

He settles for wrapping his hands around Ignis' arms, fingertips digging into the curves of his biceps, dragging their bodies together and rolling on top of him. 

"More," he says simply, lifting a hand to stroke Ignis' cheek with the back of his knuckles. Ignis stares deep in his eyes as the moments stretch out between them. It's understood that Gladio doesn't mean anything sexual; there's scarcely anything there that they haven't done. It's Ignis who breaks the gaze finally, arching up into him with a gentle push of his hips. 

"I am yours to take," he says softly, offering Gladio all the insufficiency he already possesses.

Gladio growls ferociously, giving in to his anger. It's not enough, not nearly. He slams his own hips down, pushing Ignis back into the mattress. He stands, looming over the bed, and reaches for the waistband of Ignis' pants, slapping his hands away when he tries to help. He doesn't look up, single-minded in his determination, but he can feel Ignis raising his eyebrows. His hands withdraw, though, so it seems he's willing to go along with Gladio's furious desperation. When Gladio looks up from divesting him of his pants, Ignis is wrestling out of his shirt as well, and Gladio mirrors the action. 

"In my bag, if you please," Ignis says, and he sounds so cool and collected that Gladio wants to smack him. He may as well be discussing the weather. Gladio reaches down, wrapping his hand around Ignis' cock and gripping firmly, almost to the point of pain. He's not disappointed in the sharp inhale of breath that catches Ignis offguard, barely more than a gasp. Ignis is erect, fully hard already, and Gladio can feel his heartbeat in a hot pulse against his palm. He pushes down on Ignis with the full weight of his body and with his gaze, reminding him that they're not doing this only for him. The color is high on Ignis' cheeks and his lips are parted to reveal just a hint of teeth. He doesn't make another sound but Gladio learned long ago to read other signs, and he knows the quiet tells on Ignis' body that paint a picture of arousal. He huffs lightly as he lets Ignis go, moving to retrieve the requested bottle from his bag. 

If it came down to it, and the circumstances were anything but what they were, if they were any other place or any other time, if fate were kinder, Gladio thinks he would think of himself and Ignis as a couple. The signs are all there; they're friends, they fuck a lot, they trust each other, they even love each other. So why is it, Gladio asks himself, that Ignis can make him feel like a stranger in their most intimate moments? He snaps the cap off the bottle and pours it out on his hand as he climbs back on the bed. He's not stingy, the smooth oil pooling in his palm and slipping down to his fingertips. He drops the bottle and runs a hand up Ignis' leg, Ignis yielding willingly, arching his back to inch down the bed and meet him on the way. He doesn't flinch when Gladio's other hand brushes past his cheeks and stops, rubbing slow circles around his hole before pressing the first finger in gently. Gladio watches his face as he does this, captivated by the lines of his collarbone and his throat bobbing a hard swallow as he adjusts to the intrusion working slowly in and out of him. After so long, he knows Ignis loves this part, no matter how hard he chokes back the little gasps that he won't surrender. He twists his hand, adding a second finger in the same motion, and is rewarded with Ignis turning his head sharply on the pillow as he breathes, shallowly. Gladio leans forward, unable to resist the long stretch of Ignis' exposed neck, kissing over his pulse point and nipping just a little. He won't leave a mark, though he dearly wants to. Ignis' breaths are accelerating, his skin hot to touch and he can feel the urgency rising under him. 

"Gladio," he pants, swallows the name in the same moment it escapes. He doesn't want to beg. 

Gladio wants him to beg. But he won't make him, he'll only stretch this out a little longer, opening Ignis up to him in more than just the physical. When Ignis is shifting back and forth and pushing himself onto Gladio's hand wordlessly asking for more, he does not relent, he pushes further, curling his fingers and spreading him wide. Only when Ignis' hands go white gripping at the blankets and he can finally hear the gasps of desperation that Ignis can't conceal any longer, Gladio relents, withdrawing his hand and locating the bottle in the now tousled blankets. He's hurried now, not careful with the drip and spatters that flick over his hand as he rubs oil down his cock, a smooth up and down grip with his own fist that feels heavenly after the long minutes of neglect since Ignis took his mouth away and left him wet and wanting. He fits between Ignis' legs, cupping under his thighs to pull him into his lap and Ignis is lifting his hips to help, a fever burning in his eyes, hands reaching for Gladio, grasping at his shoulders as Gladio pushes into him, groaning with relief at the sensation he settles into the tight heat. 

Gladio wonders what it is about this act that leaves his normally loquacious lover nearly dead silent, but it's not unusual. The most he will get is breathy moans slipping out at desperate moments, so he aims for those, driving into Ignis with determined rhythm until they're both sweating and clutching at each other's skin, chests heaving and scratches stinging where incautious fingernails dragged. He's rewarded finally when an unexpected cry slips out of Ignis, and Gladio can't stop the predatory grin that splits across his face, and he pushes harder, thrusting unmercifully. He loosens a hand from under Ignis to reach between them and press the heel of his palm on Ignis' neglected cock before wrapping his hand around it fully and stroking insistently. It's a massive feat of coordination, as lost as he is in the moment, but he manages it, his hand working up and down while he pistons his hips forward, and Ignis is gone not long after that, coming with a rattled moan. Gladio doesn't let up, pushes his hand through the slippery mess, mixed with pride and relief that he can still bring Ignis to this abandon, and moments later, that's the thought that finishes him, remembering that no one else gets this part of him, only he takes Ignis to the edge of his composure and tears him down. His movements become staccato as he comes, spilling inside Ignis and groaning through his relief. 

He doesn't pull out immediately, leaning forward and kissing Ignis, all over his face, forehead, cheeks, chin, the corners of his mouth, and finally on his lips. Ignis is humming with satisfaction, nuzzling up into him, accepting the attention with enthusiasm, relaxed like Gladio rarely sees him, smile on his lips and dreamy bliss in his eyes. It's only here in this moment that Gladio can ever feel the depth of his affection, and it's what drives him mad. It's what eats him alive every day when the Ignis he sees with everyone else doesn't match the kiss drunk man who is currently wrapping his long arms around Gladio and holding them together tightly enough to feel each other's hearts still racing. 

"Better?" Ignis asks into the side of his neck, and Gladio nods wordlessly. 

It's better, for now. It won't last, it never does. The problem is one without solution. Noctis may be a prince - king - in exile, but he is their liege still. The loyalty owed to him supersedes all else, and if Gladio pretends, he can almost believe it's the true reason for the impossible divide between him and Ignis. It's true enough, in its own way, and Gladio's allegiance isn't hollow. It's a very real thing to him, a weighty responsibility that he never lets himself forget. Most days, he thinks he wouldn't want to. He's honoured to serve. For all of Noctis' flaws, Gladio truly believes he is worth serving. If he were less deserving, Gladio thinks with grim humour as he and Ignis separate slowly to clean themselves up, then maybe Ignis wouldn't look at Noct as though the stars were set in his eyes. 

But the stars are set in his eyes, and Gladio can see it in the quiet way Ignis comes alive when Noctis enters the room a few minutes later, laughing loudly and pushing Prompto's shoulder playfully. It's written all over Ignis' body in the way he never settles for the night until Noctis is sleeping. It's in the (absolutely ridiculous) way Ignis folds Noct's dirty clothing (it's dirty, Gladio thinks in bafflement, you shove it in a bag and wash it later, you don't fold it) and _smiles_ while he does it. 

Gladio is grateful he is paired with Prompto tonight. He knows he wouldn't sleep at all beside Noct, would toss restlessly all night, kept awake by his thoughts, his shortcomings. He's half grateful, anyway. He can't watch Ignis lay himself down next to Noct; even though Noct sleeps like the dead, Ignis conducts himself with such care to not disturb him in any way. Gladio rolls over. He may get a face full of blond hair, but it's still less painful than staring the other direction at the two bodies that look like love even in sleep - Noct's resting face on the pillow just inches from Ignis' hand, as if he'd fallen asleep reaching for Noct. 

To Gladio's surprise, Prompto isn't sleeping, he's lying flat on his back and he glances over at him when he feels the larger body moving.

"We'll never win, will we." The whisper is not a question, and Gladio turns his head to pay Prompto his full attention. 

"Hmm?" 

Prompto jerks his chin vaguely upward, sideways. "Them. You can't compete with that. No one can." 

Gladio is silent in his surprise. He knows that Prompto is much more capable than he's often given credit for - more than he himself even gives him credit - but the note of longing and resignation in his words is far too familiar to Gladio's own heart. He sighs, exhaling a slow rush of breath. "We don't need to," he says finally, the safe answer. 

"But you want to," Prompto's eyes are too knowing and bright, lit from the motel neons peeking through the half open curtains. 

"Doesn't matter," he says shortly, uncomfortable at the confrontation. 

A long silence. 

"Yeah," Prompto says at last. 

Gladio understands, and he knows Prompto does too. 

Sometimes good enough is all you get.


End file.
